


Can't Get You Out of My Head

by CelticAurora



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barista Lance, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Bisexual Shiro (Voltron), Blow Jobs, Borderline Personality Disorder, Chronic Illness, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Gay Keith (Voltron), Hand Jobs, Lotor Is Not a Terrible Person In This One, Mental Health Issues, Mention of attempted suicide, Multi, Multiple Sclerosis, Mutual Pining, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Professor/TA Shiro, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Shower Sex, Threesome - M/M/M, mechanic keith
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-06-05 13:40:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15171905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelticAurora/pseuds/CelticAurora
Summary: There’s a new barista at Keith’s favorite coffee shop.Lance is everything Keith isn’t - everything he wishes he could be. He’s funny, charming, stupidly pretty, and makes an amazing cup of coffee. And after his first encounter with Lance, Keith just can’t stop thinking about him. And, if he isn’t mistaken, he’s been on Lance’s mind, too.There’s only one problem.Keith already has a boyfriend.





	1. Caffeine Fiend

**Author's Note:**

> Oh look. More Voltron fanfiction. 
> 
> My first attempt at a poly ship, and my first real stab at some explicit content (which will happen later. Provided I don't get too embarrassed trying to write it). 
> 
> Title from[ Kylie Minogue's "Can't Get You Out of My Head"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uYANAvwvPBg) because I am still living in the year 2001, apparently.

“I just can't get you out of my head

Boy, your lovin' is all I think about

I just can't get you out of my head

Boy, its more than I dare to think about”

\- “Can’t Get You Out of My Head” by Kylie Minogue

* * *

“Is the new guy really late on his first day?”

Pidge stopped wiping the already-gleaming black granite countertop in order to check her watch. “Well, he’s not late yet, but he will be in about...four minutes.”

Hunk shook his head. “That does not set a good precedent. It’s always a good idea to arrive early.”

“Hunk, you could arrive before Allura and you’d still think you were late.” Pidge logged herself back into the register, peering over the glass bakery case to look out the door. “He might have gotten lost. Or nabbed by a Starbucks manager to wrangle the coffee zombies.”

“A fate worse than death!” Hunk gasped jokingly, raising a hand to his brow for dramatic effect.

“Hunk! Pidge!” The door to the kitchen swung open as Allura burst through, her white hair twisted into a knot at the back of her head. She was tying an apron on over her blouse and dress slacks, and seemed caught between flustered and angry. “I don’t suppose either of you have seen Leandro, have you?”

Hunk looked to Pidge. “Leandro?”

“The new guy,” Pidge said. “We haven’t seen him yet, no.”

“The store opens in three minutes, and we’ve already got a line forming. I told him to be here and ready to go by seven A.M.”

“Well, the schedule has him down for seven to three...maybe he took that as ‘be in at seven,’ not ‘be ready to go by seven’,” Hunk remarked. “I mean, it’s...it’s an...honest...mistake…”

He trailed off as Allura glared him down, swallowing nervously. Both Hunk and Pidge had been with The Altea Tearoom and Coffee Shop since the opening, and knew that Allura was not an intentionally mean person. She was, however, a person who liked to run a tight ship, and Leandro being missing because of a possible misunderstanding of the schedule was not the kind of wrench needed on a Monday morning.

And then, with only thirty seconds on the clock before it was officially opening time, there was a disturbance in the crowd waiting outside the door. A lanky boy pressed himself to the glass door - all the way to the glass, flattening nose and forehead against it. He looked like just a regular, if overeager, customer to Pidge and Hunk, but as soon as Allura saw him, she zeroed in on him.

“Well, it’s about time!” she exclaimed, crossing the shop to the door, grumbling. She opened the door, and the boy all but fell across the threshold of the coffee shop. He likely would have been trampled by the crowd gathered outside, but Allura held them off with an imperious glare and one sharply raised eyebrow, closing the door as the boy got to his feet.

“You have twenty seconds to explain where exactly you’ve been.”

“I’m really sorry,” he apologized, brushing his hair back from his face. “My sister, she lives with us, and she worked graveyard last night - she’s a nurse at the hospital, you know? Well, she overslept, but someone had to get Diego up, that’s her son, and make breakfast for him, and pack his lunch, and make sure he got to daycare on time, but my mom, she had to leave early for work this morning. So I got Diego up and got him breakfast, because the schedule said seven, and I figured once Diego was in front of the TV with breakfast I could call my brother Marco, or my brother Luis, or even Abuelita, even though the eye doctor said she probably should cut back on the driving…”

“How long has he been going?” Hunk murmured to Pidge as the boy - Leandro, their new barista, they figured - continued.

“Thirty-seven seconds and counting,” Pidge answered, checking her wristwatch. “I don’t even think he’s stopped to take a breath.”

“I’m surprised Allura hasn’t stopped him yet.” Hunk glanced at Pidge with concern. “You don’t think she’s going to fire him, do you?”

“Nah. Then she’d have to pay us overtime. Besides, she’s more of a softy than she lets on.”

“-Anyways, I know I should have gotten here a few minutes earlier, and I am really sorry about that, and if it helps my case, I brought some of my mom’s baked goods to share.” Leandro held up a Tupperware container. “There’s some churros, a few _empanadas de manzana_ , and - ”

“I think I get it,” Allura said, voice firm but not unkind.

Leandro blushed. “It...won’t happen again. Please don’t fire me.”

“Fire you?” Allura’s brows scrunched. “I just hired you. Why would I do something so silly?”

“Told you,” Pidge said.

“Would it help if I started your shift fifteen minutes earlier?” Allura asked.

Leandro nodded. “Yes, definitely.”

“Then it’s settled.” Allura took the Tupperware container, handing Leandro a blue-trimmed white apron. “Welcome to the Altea Teahouse and Coffee Shop.”

“Allura, not to ruin the moment, but it’s already 7:02,” Pidge said. “And I see old Slav out there. He’s starting to get antsy.”

“Right.” Allura turned to face her three workers. “Look alive, you two, I’m opening the doors. And Leandro?”

“Um, Lance,” he said. “I go by Lance.”

“Lance,” Allura continued, “once you clock in, I have something I need you to do.”

“I can work any machine you need me to work,” Lance crowed proudly as Allura opened the doors and their normal flood of morning customers streamed in. “I was Garrison University’s favorite barista! I can percolate, I can steam and foam, I can run a blender, just tell me what you want me to do and I will do it!”

Allura gave him a rueful smile and held the door open, pointing to the marks left from Lance pressing his nose and forehead to the glass.

“How about we start with cleaning the windows?”

* * *

 

Once Lance had wiped down the front door - and, to firmly cement himself in Allura’s good graces, the shop’s front windows, inside and out - he finally took his place behind the counter. There were two point-of-sales systems, and Allura breezed by and let him know he would be training with Pidge. Without any precedence, she came over and entered his employee number, set a password (“1111? Really, Pidge?” Hunk had protested), and logged him into her terminal.

“So,” Lance began as he watched her log in, “how long have you guys been working here.”

“Two years, both of us,” Pidge said, opening a sliding door under the register, revealing a hidden cabinet. She produced a spotty-looking banana, peeled it, and shoved half of it into her mouth in one go.

“Two years? Are you even old enough to be working here?”

Hunk snorted a laugh, even though Pidge glared at both him and Lance with a death glare. “Dude, she’s like...twenty three.”

“Wait, seriously?” Lance asked.

“Yes, you walnut,” Pidge said. “We went to high school together. And college. You used to work at Kerberos Coffee, on campus. And we took Literature of the American South together. You used to doze off during Montgomery’s lectures.”

“Her class was at 8 A.M.,” Lance protested. “Besides, all those books were so depressing. That’s why I didn’t become an English major.”

“Oh, man, do you remember the night someone put an entire jug of Mr. Bubbles in the fountain in front of Iverson Hall?” Hunk asked.

“Do I _remember?_ That was the best night of my life!” Lance said. “I stomped around in foam that was up to my waist until campus security showed up. I don’t think I’ve ever run faster!”

“I wonder if they ever caught whoever did it…” Hunk said.

“I can tell you two things about that,” Pidge said, walking her banana peel across their small shared space to the trash can. “One, they never caught the person, and two, that was _not_ Mr. Bubbles.”

“How do you know…?” Lance’s eyes went wide. “Shut up, that was _you?_ ”

“Those dish soap bottles said _ultra-concentrated_ ,” Pidge said proudly, adjusting her glasses. “I wanted to see just how concentrated _ultra-concentrated_ was.”

“We have been working together for two years and you have never told me you were the the perp?!” Hunk clasped his hands to his chest. “How could you? I trusted you, Katie!”

“I will take that banana peel back out of the trashcan and chuck it at you if you call me Katie again,” Pidge threatened, but she was smiling.

Things fell into something of an easy rhythm between Lance, Pidge, and Hunk, and, much to Lance’s surprise, an hour rolled by in a matter of minutes. The customers were friendly, and kept them busy, and in between customers, they each recounted more tidbits from days at Garrison University, and even started ranking the professors and TAs by their looks. Lance wouldn’t have noticed the changing of time, but for the fact that the sky got lighter, and the small cafe warmed up from the morning sun coming through the front windows.

It was about quarter after eight, and most of the morning rush had already come and gone. Lance was standing by at the register, looking a bit longingly at the items in the bakery case and cursing himself for forgetting to eat breakfast when the door opened. A man dressed in a suit that probably cost more than Lance’s entire family made in a month strolled in, casually pushing his designer sunglasses up into the cascade of white hair that fell down his back. He crossed to the counter, casually rolling up the sleeves of his purple silk dress shirt to expose perfectly tanned forearms, looking at Lance like he intended to come across the counter and eat him alive - and Lance wasn’t entirely sure that wasn’t in the most literal sense of the term. He wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about this newcomer, but he put on his best customer service smile as the man came to the counter.

“Welcome to the Altea Teahouse and Coffee Shop!” he greeted brightly. “What can I get started for you?”

“Hmm...I’m thinking of something tall, dark, and hot,” the man remarked with a raised eyebrow and a grin that was downright impish.

And Lance froze. He’d never frozen before. This was far from the first time he’d been hit on while making coffee, nor was this the first coffee-based pickup line he’d heard. But then again, no one else had walked into Kerberos Coffee looking like a daddy on the hunt for a new sugar baby, and no one else had ever been that smooth in their delivery without also sounding like a completely, totally undateable douchebag.

“Oh my God, Lotor,” Pidge groaned from the other end of the counter, where she was wrapping a bagel sandwich for a rather handsome and familiar-looking young man in a sweater vest. “You come in here with that line every day. You need some new material.”

“Not until such time as this line ceases to amuse me,” Lotor said. “Now, where’s Allura?”

“Right here,” Allura said, strolling out of the kitchen with two to-go cups and a paper plate that had a few of Lance’s mom’s _empanadas de manzana_ on them. “Our morning usual?”

“I’d be delighted.” Lotor accepted one of the cups from Allura and smiled at Lance, this time a little less so he planned on devouring him. “You must be the new barista Allura’s been talking about. Lotor Sincline. A pleasure to meet you.”

He extended his hand imperiously; Lance wasn’t sure if he was expected to shake it or kiss the tasteful silver ring he wore. He settled on just shaking it.

“Yeah, I’m, uh...I’m the new guy,” he said. “I’m Lance. Nice to meet you.”

Lotor nodded. “Indeed. I’ll be seeing you again.”

Allura slipped out from behind the counter, and he offered her his arm. She took it without hesitation, and they sauntered through the cafe like a pair of gods surveying the mortal realm they’d been given charge of, finally settling into a small, circular table in a back corner. Lance shook his head and turned to Pidge and Hunk.

“Um...what was that?”

“That’s Lotor,” Pidge said, rolling her eyes. “He’s banging our boss.”

“Pidge!” Hunk gasped.

“What?”

“Why must you be so vulgar? This isn’t some casual hook-up; they’ve been together since before the shop opened. You could be a little respectful, at least.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’d be more respectful about it if Lotor wasn’t as shallow as a kiddie pool. I’m pretty sure that he’s only with her because she’s hot and her family’s rich.”

Lance leaned over the counter slightly, watching Lotor and Allura interact. He broke off a chunk of _empanada_ and fed it to her, and she did the same in return. He said something, she laughed softly. She kissed him on the cheek, he blushed slightly and smiled.

“I mean, they look pretty couple-y to me,” Lance said.

“Yeah, see?” Hunk said. “I know Lotor is kind of a pretentious pain in the ass, and he can’t get a new line to save his life, but he really cares about Allura. I don’t think he would have stuck it out for this long if he didn’t really mean it.”

The front door opened again, and the three of them immediately jumped back to their positions. A flash of bright sunshine followed their customer in, and Lance had to blink a few times to clear the spots that danced in front of his eyes.

And when he could finally see clearly... _well._

The young man who had just come in was a sharp contrast to Lotor, pale-skinned and with hair black as a moonless night. His hair curled slightly where it brushed his shoulders, and bangs fell in his face. His jeans were worn and stained with what looked like oil, and his heavy work books clattered on the tile floor. He yanked up the hem of his red tank top slightly to wipe his face - skin slightly shiny with a sheen of sweat brought on by the warm April morning - and the flash of taut, trim stomach and the cheeky peek of the waistband of his boxers made Lance swallow hard, mouth suddenly dry.

He wasn’t caught off guard, like he had been with Lotor. He was just really thirsty all of a sudden.

“Good morning,” he began as the man tugged his shirt back down and approached the counter, hoping it sounded smooth. “Welcome to the Altea Teahouse and Coffee Shop. What can I get started for you?”

The young man looked up, met Lance’s eyes, and froze. He stared at Lance with wide eyes that were a stunning violet blue, doing his best impersonation of a deer caught in headlights.

Pidge looked up from what she was doing just then, and gave the guy a casual wave. “Oh, hey Keith. Your usual?”

He snapped out of it with a slight shake of his head, looking to Pidge, a flicker of what looked like relief coming over his face. “Oh, hey Pidge. Um...yeah. Yeah, the usual.”

“You got it,” Pidge said, grabbing a cup. “Venti black coffee with a round of espresso shots - and how many is in a round, rookie?”

Lance made a face. “Four on our machine. This is not my first rodeo, Pidge.”

“And you know how to put that into the register, right?”

“Yeah, I got it,” Lance said, plugging the order into the register. He glanced up as he did, realizing that Keith was watching him.

“I haven’t seen you around here before,” he said.

“Yeah, today’s my first day. I’m Lance.” He pointed to his name tag for extra emphasis.

“Oh, cool. Um...happy first day?”

“Thanks.” Lance took the handful of crumpled bills Keith had given him, briefly wondering how he knew how much the coffee was, before remembering Pidge had said it was his usual. He glanced over, watching Pidge carefully pull four shots of espresso from their machine, and realized that was going into the second-largest cup they had, and black coffee was going on top of it. “So, I’m probably just being nosy, but...venti black coffee? With four shots of espresso?”

Keith nodded. “Yep.”

“That seems a bit excessive.”

“I keep telling him it’s going to kill him one of these days,” Hunk commented as he walked by with a bus tray full of cups, utensils, and plates. “He never listens to me.”

“I am here for a good time, big man, not a long time,” Keith said with the tired smile and resigned-but-accepting tone of someone who had heard this argument before but would still defend his side every time it came up.

“This is a cut back from his original six shots,” Pidge said, pouring coffee into the cup. “And at least he didn’t ask for this in a trenta cup.”

“That was _one_ time.”

“And you will never live it down. I should have been fired for even agreeing to serve that to you.” Pidge set the cup on the counter next to Lance’s elbow. “Your heart attack in a cup.”

“Thanks.” Keith accepted both his cup and his change from Lance, and, to Lance’s horrified and fascinated surprise, he took a swig from the cup.

“Dude, you’re drinking that _straight?_ ”

Keith lowered the cup, smacking his lips twice _(damn him)._ “Yep. This is the only part of my life when straight is the best way.”

“So you like your coffee black and bitter like your soul?” Lance joked.

Keith didn’t respond, tilting his head and examining Lance as if he were trying to figure out whether or not he was being insulted. After a minute, however, he smiled and huffed a little laugh, one that made Lance’s stomach do a backflip.

“Yeah, something like that, I guess.” He glanced at the clock and made a face. “Shit. I’ve got to run so I’m not late for work. Pidge, thanks, see you tomorrow. And Lance?”

“Yeah?”

Keith gave him a little smile and a nod. “Thanks. And welcome.”

He stuffed his change into his pocket and booked it out the door. As soon as he was out the door, Lance became acutely aware of the fact that Pidge was staring at him with a gaping-open mouth.

“What?”

“I can’t believe it,” she breathed.

“Can’t believe what?” Hunk asked as he emerged from the kitchen.

“ _Lance made Keith laugh!_ ”

“Wait, seriously?”

“I wish I had recorded it! This is a red-letter day!”

“I don’t get it,” Lance said, looking back and forth between Pidge and Hunk. “What’s the big deal?”

“What’s the big deal?” Pidge asked. “Okay, don’t get me wrong, Keith is actually a decent guy, but like...he’s super serious. My brother Matt and I grew up down the street from him, and he’s always been really intense.”

“You guys said he’s had kind of a rough life,” Hunk said.

“Oh yeah, he had a pretty tough childhood, and that’s why he’s so serious.”

“He’s always polite,” Hunk said. “I’ve just almost never seen him smile, and I have never seen him laugh.”

“I’ve only known one other person who can make him laugh,” Pidge said, wiping down the counter, “and that’s his boyfriend.”

Lance felt like Pidge had just punched him in the gut. It wasn’t that Lance was hardcore thirsting for this Keith guy, because he had just met him, and that would be crazy. It was just that Lance couldn’t help but think that he was cute, with his pretty eyes and the way his hair curled at the nape of his neck and around his shoulders. He definitely hadn’t been thinking about that brief glimpse of Keith’s abs that he’d gotten, of that taut, flat skin, the low ride of his jeans and the sharp, protruding hip bones…

_I’ve only known one other person who can make him laugh, and that’s his boyfriend._

Even if Lance’s little bisexual heart soared a bit in his chest at the knowledge that Keith was into guys, the knowledge that he already had a boyfriend brought him firmly back down to Earth.

“Lance?” Hunk asked.

“Yeah?”

“You good?”

“Peachy,” he said, mustering up a smile he didn’t quite feel, in order to throw Pidge and Hunk off from the thought that had wrapped itself around his brain and was whispering in his ear.

_Why are the cute ones always taken?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: The bubble soap in the fountain incident actually happened while I was at college. Multiple times. Fortunately, I'm pretty sure it was just Mr. Bubble and not dish soap.
> 
> I think.
> 
>  
> 
> [Come find me on Tumblr](http://mllecomtessedelafere.tumblr.com)


	2. Driven to Distraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith is incredibly distracted by Lance, and Shiro ends a bad day on a good note.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...So yeah that rating change happened faster than I thought it would.
> 
> Half the chapter is shameless self-indulgence, I'm not even going to lie. You're welcome.

“Earth to Keith?”

Keith jerked out of his reverie to find that Thace had rolled out from under the car they were working on - some piece-of-shit Pontiac the owner refused to part with, even though the repair bills had now well exceeded the cost of the car - and was holding out a hand to him. Keith couldn’t even remember what Thace had asked for.

“Uhhh…”

“Quarter-inch socket wrench?”

“Right.” Keith retrieved Thace’s requested wrench from the toolbox and passed it to him. Thace disappeared back under the car, but with the hood up, Keith could still hear him clearly.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine. Why?”

“You seem a little...off.” Thace rolled out from under the car again, eyes narrowing. “It’s nothing to do with Shiro, right?”

“What? No, no. No, we’re fine.”

“Good.” And back under the car Thace went. “He’s a good kid. Much better than some of the other ones you’ve brought around.”

Keith pulled a face. “Okay, just because you’ve known me since I was like, seven, doesn’t mean you get to continually give me shit for my choice in significant others. I get enough of that from Uncle Kolivan.”

Speaking of...the door leading from the receiving area and offices to the garage opened, and Kolivan, owner of Marmora Automotive Repairs, strode into the garage. Even though he’d started his career as a so-called grease monkey - and had taught Keith everything he knew about cars - as the owner, he’d traded his oil-splattered coveralls for a button-down shirt and slacks. He may have refused to cut his hair - which had been white for as long as Keith could remember - but even that had been tamed, tightly pulled back from his face and braided. He looked almost nothing like the wild-haired punk teenager in the Polaroid picture Keith kept tucked into the frame of his dresser’s mirror, the picture made sacred by the fact that it was one of the only picture he had of his mom.

Krolia, his mom, had been Kolivan’s kid sister, and appeared right next to him in the picture, a dead ringer for Keith at the same age, sticking her tongue out at the camera. Keith had no memories of his mom; she’d died in a car accident when he was three months old. After his dad had died in a house fire when he was seven, Keith had ended up being placed in Kolivan’s care. He grown up running around auto shops - first, Daibazzal Motors, and then Marmora once Kolivan had gotten the money together to open his own shop. Half the mechanics at Marmora were old buddies of Kolivan’s, and not only had they known Keith since he was little, but they had been the ones to spark his interest in fixing and building cars.

Of course, as he had discovered, the fact that the mechanics had known him for so long had its pros and cons…

“You might want to look busy,” Thace commented from under the body of the car.

“Right…” Keith began a routine check of the engine block, going over the standard checklist of engine maintenance in his head, desperately trying to block out the thoughts of the barista at Altea.

Altea Teahouse and Coffee Shop had been his and Shiro’s go-to spot when they’d first started dating; it was only a five-minute walk from Marmora, and close enough to the campus of Garrison University that Shiro could leave and come back in a break between the classes he taught, back in the days when he had been a lowly TA. He’d started going there in the mornings when he’d learned the baristas - particularly Pidge - would indulge his ridiculous coffee order (“At least it isn’t half flavored syrups,” Pidge had told him one morning. “I have seen some drinks that are literally just diabetes in a cup.”) And in the year or so that he’d been going there in the mornings, it was always either Pidge, Hunk, or Romelle who he saw in the mornings. He knew them all well - Hunk was the concerned mother hen, Romelle was a sweet cinnamon roll who also happened to have a black belt in tae kwon do, and Pidge’s deadpan, snarky sense of humor matched his own.

Lance was new, a wild card. And he was, much to Keith’s utter dismay, unfairly pretty - a fact which had been driving Keith mad all day.

Kolivan strolled over, scowling at the car. “This guy again?”

“Again.” Thace rolled out from under the car and sat up, wiping his hands on a shop towel. “It’s the alternator this time.”

“Eventually, this guy is going to have to let this car go.” Kolivan shook his head. “How are we doing?”

“I am about ninety-nine percent sure of what the problem is,” Thace said, “and maybe about fifty percent of the way to repairing it. Keith’s doing an engine check for me.”

“Right,” Keith said, pulling out the dipstick, giving it a cursory glance, and putting it back in. “Engine oil is low, but doesn’t require immediate servicing.”

Thace and Kolivan said nothing, only stared at him for a long, silent moment.

“Are you sure about that?” Kolivan asked.

_ Aw, shit. _

Keith reached into the engine again, taking the dipstick out and grabbing a towel. What he wiped on the towel was not so much oil as it was burnt-smelling black sludge.

“I stand corrected,” Keith said.

“For fuck’s sake, if I have told this man, I’ve told him a thousand times, he’s supposed to change the oil before it turns into this!” Thace grabbed an oil pan and disappeared back under the car, grumbling and cursing all the while. Keith looked down at the stained concrete floor, wishing it would just swallow him whole.

“How about you take five?” Kolivan suggested.

Keith couldn’t get out of the garage fast enough.

* * *

 

“What’s going on?”

Keith had been in the middle of forcing down a cup of the swill that was the break room coffee - seriously, who was it that continued to insist on only buying Maxwell House? - when Kolivan spoke to him. Turning around, he found his uncle standing in the doorway to the break room, arms folded across his chest and eyes narrowed slightly.

Keith swallowed the mouthful of coffee he had, wincing at the burning, bitter path it carved down to his stomach.

“Just...having an off day.”

Kolivan’s gaze was almost unnerving. “You don’t normally make mistakes like that. Maybe when you were fourteen and learning your way around a car, but...you’re one of my best.”

“Yeah, I know. I...screwed up. I can do the oil change for Thace if he needs me too.”

“Thace can stand to cool his heels a little longer.” Kolivan closed the door to the break room. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, things are fine.”

“You and Shiro are okay?”

“Yeah, of course we are. Never better. I’m just...distracted today.” He worked up a weak smile. “New barista at Altea. He probably didn’t make the coffee strong enough.”

You are a terrible liar, Keith Kogane.

Kolivan didn’t look entirely convinced, but, thankfully, he didn’t pry. “Well...if something’s going on, you know you can come talk to me, right? I know you’re a grown man, and I know you can handle your own business, but you know I’ve got your back if you ever need any help.”

This time, Keith’s smile was genuine. “Yeah, I know. Thanks, Uncle Kolivan.”

He nodded, opening the door. “Why don’t you head back out there? I think Thace needs someone to bitch to.”

* * *

 

The air had cooled off by the time Keith began his walk home after his shift ended at Marmora. He’d managed not to fuck up any worse than he already had, and did his penance for his rookie mistake by scraping sludge out of the Pontiac’s engine for nearly an hour. Thace, fortunately, managed to chill out enough in that time to not curse the customer out when he came to pick up his car, but he did give the man some very pointed reminders about the importance of regular oil changes. Much to Keith’s relief, no one else asked him if things were okay between him and Shiro. Not that he was annoyed with people being concerned - he appreciated that they cared enough to ask - but his life with Shiro was a private thing, something he liked to keep between himself and Shiro whenever possible.

Besides, the problem wasn’t Shiro. The problem was Keith’s stupid brain, which kept going back to Lance the barista.

His route home took him past Altea Teahouse and Coffee Shop. He stopped in front of one of the picture windows under the pretense of checking his phone, but really, he was looking behind the counter to see if Lance was still there.

_ What am I even going to do if he is there? Go inside and tell him to stay out of my thoughts? _

Unfortunately - or, perhaps, fortunately - Lance was gone, the counter instead staffed by Rolo, Nyma, and Shay, who typically worked the afternoon and evening shifts. He pocketed his phone with a sigh that he wasn’t sure was more relieved or disappointed and continued on his way home.

“Home” was actually Shiro’s apartment - or, at least, it had been until about six months ago, when Shiro had suggested that Keith move in with him. While Shiro’s apartment was modest, it was nicer than Keith’s old one-bedroom place, and closer to the shop, too. It had also meant no more walks of shame on the nights he’d passed out at Shiro’s place without a change of clothes on hand.

Shiro was already home, sitting at the dining room table and surrounded by stacks of papers. He wore sweatpants and a white tee shirt that should have been illegal, it was so tight. His reading glasses were balanced on the bridge of his nose, over the scar that slashed across it, and he was worrying the clip of a pen between his teeth. He looked up when Keith came in, smiling in that way that always - even today - made Keith’s heart miss a beat.

“Hey, baby,” he called.

“Hey.” Keith kicked off his boots, then came over to the table. “Grading papers?”

“All day, everyday.” Shiro shook his head, picking up a paper and holding it out to Keith. “I don’t even know what some of these kids are thinking. This kid just wrote ‘the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell’ a hundred times on his paper.”

Keith frowned. “You teach English.”

“And now you understand my confusion.” Shiro set the paper aside. “How was your day?”

“Eh. You know. The usual. I spent an hour scraping oil gunk out of an engine.”

“Sexy,” Shiro joked. “You smell like it.”

“Yeah. I’m gonna go fix that. I still feel slimy.”

Keith made his way back to the bedroom they shared, then into the master bathroom. That had been another benefit to moving in with Shiro - the master bathroom was amazing, with the nicest, most gorgeous shower it had ever been his pleasure to use. The shower at his old apartment had been so small that bending over to retrieve a dropped item, such as a shampoo bottle or a bar of soap, resulted in him accidentally popping the shower door open with his ass. Watching Shiro, who was 6’2” and built like a brick shit house, try to use his tiny shower was nothing short of comedy gold.

He shucked off his sweaty tank top and started the shower. He was in the middle of undoing his belt when a pair of arms - one flesh and blood, one a top-of-the-line metal prosthetic - encircled him. Keith arched an eyebrow.

“I thought you had papers to grade.”

“Hmmm…” Shiro’s chest was pressed to Keith’s back, and he could feel Shiro’s vocalization rumble through the both of them. “Grade shitty papers or take a shower with my sexy mechanic boyfriend...grade papers or boyfriend…” His fingers deftly unhooked Keith’s belt, and his hot breath against Keith’s neck and ear made his knees week. “Grading papers can wait.”

“Shiro…”

“Yeah, baby?”

“You’re...the worst…”

Shiro leaned forward and nipped at Keith’s earlobe. “You love it.”

Shiro’s hands made quick work of Keith’s jeans and boxes, his touch light but still enough to make Keith’s cock harden. Once Keith had been stripped bare, Shiro turned him, so they were chest-to-chest; Shiro’s pupils were blown wide, gray irises nothing more than halos around the black of his pupils.

“God, you’re gorgeous.”

“And you’re wearing too much clothing.” Keith ran his fingers up under the hem of Shiro’s tight shirt, making him groan. “Allow me.”

He drew Shiro’s shirt up, swooping in to trail kisses up that gloriously sculpted chest, sucking one of Shiro’s nipples into his mouth and circling his tongue around it until it perked, hard and perfect for biting. By the time he’d kissed his way up to Shiro’s neck, his boyfriend was flushed, panting mess, and Keith was very grateful for the fact that sweatpants left very little to the imagination.

“These seem a little tight,” Keith breathed into Shiro’s neck, palming the hard bulge of his cock. “Would you like some help getting them off?”

“Y-yes please.”

Keith hooked his thumbs into the waistband of Shiro’s sweatpants, taking them and his boxer briefs down in one fluid move. Shiro’s cock curled proudly over his belly, and Keith’s mind went blank - all thoughts of his day, of his dumb mistake at the shop, of the stupidly attractive barista at Altea, all of them gone and replaced by the desire to ride Shiro’s dick until he forgot his own name.

“The water’s going to get cold, at this rate,” Shiro chuckled.

“Right. Shower.”

Keith forced himself to turn around, take the three steps to the shower, slide back the frosted glass door, and step in. He could see Shiro’s silhouette through the glass, taking towels off the rack, bending over and retrieving something from the cabinet under the sink (God _damn_ , it should have been illegal to have an ass as nice as Shiro’s), and then, the door opened and Shiro slipped in, the steam that was filling the bathroom making his white forelock droop over one eye. He stood in front of Keith, massive shoulders blocking the spray of water. Keith huffed at him, and Shiro’s responding smile was downright wicked.

“Problem?”

“You’re blocking the showerhead.”

“Terribly sorry.” Shiro’s hands snaked around Keith’s waist, and with no preamble, he picked Keith up; Keith helped him with a little hop, securing his legs around Shiro’s waist, arms around his neck. Shiro turned them until Keith’s back was to the spray instead.

“Better?”

“Much.”

Shiro smiled, flicking his hair out of his eye. “Kiss me?”

Keith pressed his lips to Shiro’s in a hot, open-mouthed kiss that was downright filthy. He felt Shiro jolt slightly in surprise, but that was a split-second reaction before Shiro was returning the kiss, sucking Keith’s tongue into his mouth, hands sliding down Keith’s body to dig into the meat of his ass and thighs. Keith’s cock twitched and stirred, caught between him and Shiro.

“S-Shiro,” he moaned, as Shiro kissed down over his jaw, then to his neck. His short nails scrabbled at Shiro’s shoulders, and he felt Shiro’s hips stutter, pressing his heavy cock against Keith.

“I’ve got you baby. I’ve got you. Hang...hang on, hop down for a second.”

Keith whined, but allowed Shiro to put him down. Shiro slid the shower door open, twisting out to reach for something, and while he was distracted, Keith reached out, wrapping a hand around Shiro’s cock and giving a long, firm stroke that earned him a choked noise.

“ _Jesus Christ_ , Keith,” he gasped.

“You invade my shower.” Keith punctuated his sentence with another stroke. “You strip me down like you’re going to fuck the sense out of me. And then you keep making me wait.” He was deliberately slower this time, adding a twist to his wrist, thumbing over the wet head of Shiro’s cock. “This is me giving it back.”

“You are so needy,” Shiro chuckled, twisting back into the shower and sliding the door closed, a familiar bottle in his hand. “Can you at least let me get the lube?”

“I suppose…”

“Brat.” Shiro swatted at Keith’s ass with a wicked grin. “You’re going to get it good.”

“Well, come on then.” Keith gave another stroke, drawing a groan from Shiro. “Put me in my place.”

Shiro slowly, deliberately, set the bottle of lube on the ledge meant for soap and shampoo, then grabbed Keith by the waist and hoisted him up, pressing his back against the tile wall of the shower. Keith moaned, but Shiro swallowed that moan with a kiss, rutting Keith against the wall until Keith swore he was going to come without being penetrated - or even touched.

“Shiro...Shiro please…”

“You want it, huh?” Shiro growled into Keith’s ear.

“Y-Yes…”

Shiro reached over and grabbed the bottle of lube, holding it up between the two of them. Keith took it dumbly, and Shiro held up two fingers.

“Get these ready for me?”

Keith quickly lubed up the two fingers, breathing harder as Shiro reached down between them, gently circling Keith’s hole, swallowing the breathy noises Keith made with quick kisses. He slipped in one finger easily, and then the other, pressing and swirling them inside Keith, curling them over his prostate and making Keith jolt. Keith scratched at Shiro’s shoulders, then his scalp, yanking at the longer hair at the top of Shiro’s head.

“S-Shiro...Shiro please...please…”

“God, you sound so good when you beg,” Shiro mumbled against Keith’s lips. He slid his fingers out, taking his cock in hand and lining it up with Keith’s hole, pressing the head in. Keith cried out in delight, snapping his hips up, rocking himself on Shiro’s cocked and trying to get it seated deeper in him.

“Shiro…”

“Yeah?” He took Keith’s narrow hips in his hands, stilling him, then rolled his own hips, sinking his cock deeper into Keith. “You like that, baby?”

“Yes!”

“You’re so good, baby,” Shiro moaned, snapping his hips again. “Taking my cock so well.”

Keith’s chest was tight, and he moaned, breathless. “C’mon, Shiro...harder…”

“Harder?” Shiro fucked into Keith, hips snapping at a hard, fast pace. “You like this? This feel good for you, baby?”

Keith nodded, rocked his hips as best as he could with them still trapped in Shiro’s grip, fucking himself on Shiro’s cock, the friction between the two of them reducing him to a breathless, moaning mess.

“Shiro...Shiro, I’m gonna…”

“Come on, baby. Come for me. I’ve got you.”

Shiro’s cock was seated to the hilt in him, hips pumping at a furious pace, and when Shiro mouthed against his neck, tongue pressing against a pulse point, Keith couldn’t take it anymore. He came hard, cock splattered cum all over his belly and Shiro’s. Shiro’s cock twitched inside of him, and with only a few short, shallow thrusts, Shiro came, too, mouth opening in a groan that Keith greedily swallowed in a kiss.

They stayed like that for a minute, Keith still pinned between Shiro and the wall, Shiro’s cock softening inside of him. He leaned in, pressing his wet forehead to Shiro’s, cool water spraying them both.

“Hey, Shiro,” he chuckled, breathless.

“Yeah?”

“You were right. We used up all the hot water.” Keith looked down, then back up. “And we both kind of need to wash off.”

Shiro glanced down as well, at the mess splattered on both of them, and chuckled.

“Worth it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~I stopped in the middle of writing this chapter to laugh because I couldn't believe I'd actually just written this~~
> 
>  [Come yell at me on Tumblr](http://mllecomtessedelafere.tumblr.com)


	3. Sick Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good things can't last, and bad days bring out the worst in Keith and Shiro.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had intentions to keep this fanfiction within the realm of ten chapters, but after writing this chapter...I see that not happening.
> 
> Enjoy some good, old-fashioned whump, courtesy of the VLDS7 revelation about Shiro's chronic illness.
> 
> (Also, changed titles of chapters because trying to keep up with the naming system I originally had in mind was a pain)
> 
> TW: Mentions of past attempted suicide/suicidal ideations

Unfortunately for Shiro, going as hard as he had gone with Keith the night before had its consequences.

Discovering them at six A.M., while trying to get out of bed, well...that was even less fun. Despite the full night’s deep sleep he’d gotten, the fatigue that had been plaguing him for the past few days was still there, in full force. He tried to sit up, but the world tilted rather spectacularly off its axis. He threw his legs over the side of the bed, managing to get his legs over the side of the bed before the dizziness was too much. He leaned forward, bracing his forearms against his knees and trying to ignore the fact that his body felt stiff from the waist down.

“Shiro..?”

Keith’s voice was sleepy; looking over his shoulder, he could see Keith squinting up at him, hair a cloud of black around his head, having dried overnight into a somewhat curly hot mess.

“Hey.” He reached for Keith’s hand, warm from sleep. “Did I wake you up?”

“No, s’fine.” He blinked, face screwing up in confusion. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just a little stiff,” Shiro lied. “I’m fine. Just need to limber up at the gym.”

But Keith sat up, his look of confusion turning suspicious. “Stiff? Is it your legs?”

“It’s nothing, baby. I’m fine.” He grabbed the headboard, using it both to help him to his feet and to keep him steady as the bedroom around him swayed dangerously. “Go back to sleep.”

But the bedsprings creaked behind him, and then Keith was right there in front of him, hands on his shoulders, studying his face.

“Shiro,” he began slowly, “are you having a relapse?”

Shiro made a face. Damn Keith, for being so intuitive, for having read every book and article about multiple sclerosis, regardless of whether or not he could understand them. For going to every specialist appointment with Shiro, to the point that he could recognize a relapse without even having to ask.

For not letting him pretend he was fine.

It had been seven years since his diagnosis. Nine since the initial onset of his symptoms. He’d been in the middle of his sophomore year of college, doing what every energetic nineteen-year-old guy would do: Rock climbing, tackle football, going to rowdy frat parties and participating in the occasional kegstand or two. Between sophomore year and senior year, however, his health began to fluctuate, from days where he felt completely fine, except for a few aches and pains, to days where he couldn’t get out of bed, he was so dizzy, or so weak, or so stiff. He’d almost not been able to graduate on time because of his health, and every single doctor and specialist he’d gone to had only been able to give him more and more tests, with no solid answer.

A diagnosis of multiple sclerosis in the spring semester of his senior year, after two years of waxing and waning health, seemed like a relief. 

It was also a game-changer on levels he had never expected.

Suddenly, everyone was treating him like he was going to fall to pieces at any second. Friends stopped responding to his text messages. Conversations became stilted and awkward. People stared outright if he went out using any kind of mobility aid - because, after all, what would an otherwise healthy-looking twenty-something need a cane or a motorized scooter for? Even his parents and his then-boyfriend, Adam, treated him differently. They tried not to treat him differently, but he saw the way worry wrinkled his mother’s brow, grayed his father’s hair. Saw worry and fear in the set of Adam’s shoulders each doctor’s appointment, each relapse.

And that had been before the accident…

“Really, Keith, it’s nothing,” he insisted. “I’ve got to go get ready for work.”

But Keith didn’t budge. He stayed where he was, eyes on Shiro’s, those searching violet eyes that had enchanted Shiro the first time he’d met Keith.

It had been an exceptionally low point in his life. One car accident had taken so much: His peace of mind. His right arm. His parents. 

His fiance.

It had been too much for Adam. And Shiro had understood it the best he could have at the time. A diagnosis of MS had been a lot to start with. But now there were more complications. Amputation. Prosthetics. Post-traumatic stress that reared its ugly head in the form of Shiro having a full-fledged, panicked meltdown getting into Adam’s car when he’d finally been released from the hospital. It was too much for their relationship to handle.

It still blew his mind that Keith was able to take it all in, on top of his own life and his own problems.

“Shiro.” Keith’s voice was firm, but calm. “Tell me the truth. Is this another relapse?”

Shiro sighed, bowing his head. There would be no getting around the question so long as Keith was asking it.

“Maybe,” he said. “Probably.”

Keith nodded, but there was no hint of an “I told you so.” “Alright. Back to bed with you.”

“I can’t, Keith. I have to teach.”

“You’re a professor, Shiro. You have the power to cancel class, don’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but…”

“And you know campus isn’t exactly accessible. Especially not the English building.”

“It’s almost end of term, though,” Shiro argued weakly - because he already knew he was going to lose the argument. 

“I thought your final was a paper, not an exam?”

“It is…”

“Then don’t worry about it. Odds are, your students will appreciate the extra day to start working on their papers. Or to play video games. Who knows?” Keith raised an eyebrow at Shiro. “Now, come on, back to bed. I’ll go let Kolivan know I won’t be in today.”

Shiro made a face as Keith took his arm and helped him back towards the bed. Bad enough he wouldn’t be able to go to work today, but he didn’t want Keith to have to miss work, too.

“Keith, you don’t have to stay home with me. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m sure you will be. But…” Keith gently turned Shiro around, taking his arms to help him sit down on the bed. “You know that I would prefer to stay with you.”

And Shiro knew that Keith would. He’d stay home for however long it took Shiro to bounce back to at least functional capacity, fetching medicine, driving to appointments, helping Shiro move around the house - or, as he had in more than one memorably humiliating moment, holding the bedside urinal while Shiro used it because he couldn’t make it to the bathroom. It was a level of devotion that both comforted Shiro - that Keith would do all of this, without complaint or hesitation, for him - and made him feel like a burden.

“Just in case,” Keith wheedled. “And, if I can stay with you, I can make you soup.”

Shiro raised an eyebrow at him. Keith was a marginally better cook than he was, but even still, he wasn’t that great.

Keith caught his look and sighed, helping Shiro sit down. “Okay, fine, I can call Panera and have them deliver soup. They deliver now, you know?”

"Thank God for that.”

“Hey, it’s the thought that counts. Now.” He dropped into a crouch in front of Shiro. “Will you stop complaining about me wanting to stay home with you and just let me?”

“One condition,” Shiro said.

Keith raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

“You can stay home and fuss over me as much as you want, and I will not say a word,” Shiro began, “so long as you remember to take care of yourself, too - starting with taking your medication.”

Keith made a face. Much as Shiro hated being reminded of his own problems, he knew Keith hated being reminded of his struggles with mental illness. It had taken him a good six months after they’d started dating for Keith to confide in Shiro that he’d been diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder after a very rough high school career that had ended with him being expelled from two different schools and a spiraling breakdown that had ended with Keith taking almost an entire container of pills in a desire to just _make everything stop_ - something Shiro didn’t like thinking about, even to this day. But, knowing where Keith had been once upon a time, Shiro hated to even think about him not taking care of himself.

“Don’t make that face at me,” Shiro said. “You have a really bad habit of forgoing your own needs to take care of me when...when I’m like this.” He reached up with his prosthetic right arm, touching the metal of his palm to Keith’s face. “It’s not good for you, baby.”

“I know,” Keith muttered, not meeting Shiro’s eyes, but putting a hand over Shiro’s.

“Call Kolivan. Let him know what’s going on,” Shiro said. “And then medications for both of us. Deal?”

Keith huffed a sigh, but nodded. “Deal.”

“Good.” Slowly, Shiro tried to lever himself into a more comfortable position; Keith bent over and helped him, surprisingly strong for his wiry frame, helping Shiro move until his back was against the headboard and his legs were stretched out in front of him. Keith gave him a halfhearted smile, smoothed his white forelock, and disappeared into the bathroom with his phone in hand.

“Hey, Kolivan,” he heard Keith say, over the opening of the medicine cabinet, the rattling of pill bottles, and the running of the tap. “It’s me. I’m not going to be in today. Shiro’s had a relapse...yeah, he’s okay for now, just stiff and in a lot of pain...no, I think we’re good for now, I really appreciate it, though...I’ll let you know. Thank you. Love you too. Bye.”

A moment later, Keith padded out of the bathroom, pinching the rims of two plastic drinking cups in one hand, carrying another one filled with water in the other, and carefully balancing his phone on his arm. 

“You know,” he began, settling next to one of Shiro’s outstretched legs on the bed, “I think, between the two of us, we could put the CVS down the road to shame.”

“Yeah,” Shiro said with a slight nod. “I think we could.”

“Alright,” Keith said, offering Shiro one of the cups, “for you, we’ve got Gilenya, Effexor, Ampyra, and, God help you, Antivert. For me, we have Zyprexa and Prozac. And let’s not forget a healthy dose of Klonopin for the both of us. And, of course, because dry-swallowing is apparently bad for you, a nice cup of water to wash this assortment down.”

“Bottoms up,” Shiro said, holding out his cup to Keith’s in a mockery of a toast.

Keith gave him a wry smile, touching his plastic cup against Shiro’s.

“Cheers.”

* * *

 

Getting Keith to remember to take care of himself was surprisingly easy.

At least for the first two days.

But then Shiro’s relapse stretched into a third day, and a fourth. And, because all things tend to get worse before they get better, his relapse got worse. He spent of days three and four on his back in bed, asleep when he wasn’t in too much pain to do so. Day five continued in much the same fashion, and during the brief moments where he wasn’t asleep or incoherent from pain or pain meds, and when Keith wasn’t on the phone trying to get him an appointment for an MRI or an infusion, he could see Keith’s self-made decline start to take shape. His hair went unwashed for days (dry shampoo only did so much), dark circles formed under his eyes from a lack of sleep, and bristly stubble began to grow over his normally clean-shaven jaw.

But it wasn’t just the physical changes - it was the behavioral ones, too. All the nervous, on-edge pacing returned, sent him wearing a path in the bedroom floor at all hours. The tics returned, too; Keith’s hands were constantly in motion, and if he wasn’t wringing them, he was scratching and digging at his wrists and the backs of his hands to the point that, had he been physically able to, Shiro would have put socks on Keith’s hands, just to make him stop doing that.

Shiro hadn’t missed the mood swings, either, the manic energy that would drive Keith into the kitchen to try to cook them dinner, or to help Shiro grade his backlog of papers, only for that energy to desert him halfway through a task and leave him cranky and exhausted - or, in one particularly startling moment at the end of day five, had led to him crying at the kitchen counter for a good half-hour. He denied it when Shiro asked him about it, but he knew what he’d heard.

Keith’s decline hurt to watch. What hurt worse, though, was Keith’s refusal to acknowledge it.

Shiro’s symptoms were marginally better by day six, and Keith had managed to get him scheduled for an infusion.Getting to the car was tricky; they were, fortunately, on the first floor of the building, but Shiro was neither strong enough nor sturdy enough to make it to the car on his crutches, even with Keith helping him. It was out of sheer desperation that Keith went across the hall to their neighbors - a pair of dudebros who each looked like they could bench-press a horse - to ask for help with getting Shiro to the car. Fortunately for him and Keith, they were more than happy to help, and with the two of them helping Keith, they managed to half support, half carry Shiro from the apartment to Keith’s car, settling him in the passenger’s seat and wishing him luck.

“You know, one day you’re just going to have to suck it up and buy a motorized wheelchair,” Keith remarked on their way to the clinic. Any other time, Keith would have made it sound like a joke, a note of humor in his voice, but today there was only a hard, pissed-off edge. Shiro sighed.

“Yeah, I know. I just...I couldn’t really afford one, back when I first...back when this all got started.”

“You were a TA back then,” Keith pointed out. “You’re a professor now.”

“I know, but it’s not just the wheelchair. I would have to get a truck or a van, because I would need a lift in the trunk to get the chair in and out, and that costs a lot of money, too - ”

“Okay, I get it,” Keith snapped.

For a few minutes, the only sound in the car came from the radio, playing the kind of music that most people had left behind a decade ago, along with raccoon-thick eyeliner and scene hair. Then, finally, Keith sighed, pushing his greasy bangs out of his face.

“I’m so sorry, Shiro. I...I didn’t mean to snap like that.”

“Did you take your meds today?”

Keith’s shoulders hunched slightly, and he stared out the windshield in a very determined fashion. “I forgot.”

“And how many days in a row have you forgotten?”

Keith didn’t say anything, but much to Shiro’s dismay, his eyes turned watery. He knew the mood swings were an unfortunate consequence of Keith being off his meds for a few days, but still, it had not been his intention to make his boyfriend cry.

“Hey, baby…”

“I-I’m just worried, o-okay?” Keith stammered out, stubbornly wiping at his eyes with the heel of his hand.

“About me?”

Keith nodded. 

“Baby, I know you are. But that doesn’t mean that you should throw your own health away just to take care of me. We both know that this relapse will, eventually, end, and I’ll be fine. It’s not permanent.”

_ Not for now. _ Shiro knew that his own health was a ticking time bomb, and, eventually, he would more than likely go from “relapsing and remitting” to “relapsing and progressively getting worse.” But he didn’t need to be reminded of that, and right now, neither did Keith.

At any rate, Keith didn’t look particularly convinced by what he’d just said. They had arrived at the outpatient clinic where Shiro did his infusion treatments, and Keith pulled up at the front of the building, putting the car in park. Shiro gave Keith a small but hopefully reassuring smile, moving to put his hand over Keith’s, which was resting on the driveshaft. Given his current state, however, his hand more or less flopped on top of Keith’s like a dead fish. It wasn’t what he’d particularly wanted to do, and it was far from comforting or romantic, but it did get a little huff of laughter from Keith.

“Look,” Shiro said. “I’m going to be a few hours. Why don’t you go back to the apartment? Take a shower. Relax. Maybe watch an episode of that zombie show you like.”

Keith bit his bottom lip, looking unsure.

“I’ll be fine. Take some time to take care of you.”

“Well...who’s going to take you in? Get you all checked in?”

There was a gentle tap on Shiro’s window. Keith rolled it down, and Shay, one of the regular nurses at the clinic, bent down slightly to wave to them. Her thick, dark hair was woven into two braids, and her cheery yellow scrubs offset the gloomy mood of the car. Shiro noted, gratefully, that she’d brought a wheelchair with her.

“Doctor Shirogane,” she greeted with a brilliant smile. “While it’s lovely to see you, I must say that I wish we were meeting under better circumstances.”

“Shay,” Shiro began with a smile to her, “can you please convince my wonderful and loving but stubborn boyfriend that I will be fine here for a few hours, and that he should go home and shower and maybe take a nap?”

Shay peered beyond Shiro, over to Keith, and giggled softly. “You heard the doctor. Go home and relax. I’ll take care of him, I promise.”

Keith sighed. “You two aren’t going to let me stay here, are you?”

"Well, I really am in no shape to stop you from staying if you want to,” Shiro commented, as Shay opened the door, moving the wheelchair into place. “But...it would make me feel better if you actually went back to the apartment and got some rest.”

Keith breathed out a very long sigh that bordered on theatrical, but he did nod.

“Alright. I’ll...go do something.”

“Apartment? Shower? Rest?”

“Well, yeah, but...I might go get coffee first.”

Having watched Keith already down two cans of Red Bull, Shiro was of the opinion that caffeine was the last thing Keith needed, but he didn’t want to argue. He nodded.

“If that will make you feel better, baby.”

Shay helped him transfer into the wheelchair, and then closed the door, waving to Keith.

“Don’t you worry about a thing!” she said. 

“I’ll text you when they’re finishing up,” Shiro promised.

“Okay,” Keith responded. Shay moved the wheelchair away, and Keith shifted the car into drive, slowly rolling out of the parking lot. As he turned back out onto the main road, Shay chuckled, rolling Shiro towards the clinic doors.

“You’re right, Doctor Shirogane,” she said. “He’s sweet, all right, but stubborn as they come.”

Shiro gave a weak chuckle. “Yeah. Yeah, he is.”

_ That’s what worries me...  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not saying Shiro had a relapse because of amazing shower sex, but...it probably didn't help...
> 
> If any of my information about either multiple sclerosis or borderline personality disorder is off, please don't hesitate to reach out to me and offer suggestions! 
> 
>  
> 
> [You know where to find me](http://mllecomtessedelafere.tumblr.com)


	4. Three's a Crowd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance shouldn't feel the way he does about Keith. But he doesn't know how to make it stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, so...it's been a while. This chapter was, technically, finished about two months ago, I just never got around to sitting down and typing it up. 
> 
> But, here it is, in the aftermath of the fuckery that was season 8 of Voltron. Enjoy it. Let it soothe your feelings. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who continued to comment, leave kudos, read, and/or subscribe to this story!

“Hey, have either of you guys seen Keith at all today?”

Pidge looked up from her current task (making a venti frappuccino that was easily half sugar and syrup) to shake her head at Hunk’s question.

“No, dude,” she said. “I haven’t seen him at all this week.”

Hunk’s eyes fell on Lance. He shook his head, making a vague shrugging motion.

“No, I...I don’t think I’ve seen him.”

He was a liar. A no-good, dirty rotten liar. He’d barely been at the coffeeshop for a week, but he knew knew Keith hadn’t come in for roughly the same amount of time, and he knew that it wasn’t like him. And he especially knew he hadn’t been in at all today, because he’d kept an eye on both the clock and the door.

But Hunk and Pidge couldn’t know that.

“Why do you ask?” he finished.

“Keith’s a regular,” Hunk said. “Comes around just the same time every day, more or less.”

“Come to think of it,” Pidge said, passing the completed, neon-pink, diabetes-inducing drink across the counter to its owner, “I haven’t seen Shiro around in a few days, either.”

Lance perked up slightly, attention grabbed. “Wait, wait, Shiro as in the hot TA from Garrison’s English department, that Shiro?”

“Well, he’s not the hot TA anymore, he’s the hot professor now,” Hunk said. “But yeah. Same guy.”

If Hunk had heard Lance admit that he thought Shiro was hot, he gave no indication of it. For that, Lance was incredibly thankful. 

“Wait,” Lance said, “what do Keith and Shiro have to do with each other?”

Pidge paused in the middle of rinsing the blender to pin Lance down with a look like he was the dumbest person in existence. “Dude, seriously?”

“What?”

“They’re dating.”

Lance blinked. “They are?”

“Um, yeah, pretty sure we covered this.”

“No, you just said that he had a boyfriend,” Lance argued. “The day I made him laugh. My first day here. You told me the only other person who could make him laugh was his boyfriend. I would have remembered if you’d told me that the only other person who could make him laugh was the gorgeous English TA Takashi Shirogane.”

“Pretty sure I called him by name,” Pidge said. 

“No, you didn’t,” Hunk added in. “You just called him Keith’s boyfriend.”

Pidge narrowed her eyes on Hunk, then threw down the rag she was using to wipe up the water splashed around the sink. “Damn you and your long-ass memory!”

“I mean, how was I supposed to know the two of them were dating?” Lance asked. “I’ve only been here, like, a week. I’ve literally seen Keith like, once, and he was by himself.”

The bell over the door rang, announcing that a new customer had come to break up the mid-afternoon monotony. Lance whirled around to face the register, plastering on his best “customer service” smile and already starting in on what he was beginning to consider his programmed greeting.

“Welcome to Altea Teahouse and Coffee Shop! What can I - ?”

Lance got a good look at the customer who had just walked through the door, and nearly choked on his tongue. In his chest, his stupid little heart missed a beat.

“K-Keith?”

Keith scrubbed a hand over his face as he approached the counter, offering Lance a wan smile in form of greeting. This Keith, however, was not the grease-stained, hotter-than-hot mechanic who had strolled into the coffeeshop a week ago and blown Lance away with his presence alone. This Keith was exhausted-looking, the skin under his eyes a dark, bruised color, presumably from a lack of sleep. Dark stubble grew along his chin and jaw - Lance was pretty sure he’d been clean-shaven when he’d last come in - and his dark hair, yanked back into a comically short ponytail, looked as if it hadn’t seen a bottle of shampoo in a while.

“Keith?” Pidge elbowed her way to the register, nearly sending Lance to the floor. “Jesus! We thought you were dead or something!”

“No, not dead. Surprisingly.” Keith tried and failed to stifle a yawn. “Hey, uh, can I get my old usual? It’s been a rough week, and, um...I’m running on fumes here.”

“Is everything okay?” Lance asked. He may not have known Keith particularly well, but judging by the stark difference in his appearance from how he’d looked last week, Lance had to figure something was probably wrong.

Pidge frowned, expression serious. “Did Shiro have a relapse?”

Keith nodded, lips pressed together in a thin line.

Pidge nudged Lance out of the way again, taking his spot at the register. Lance turned to jump on the espresso machine, remembering Pidge had said something about his original usual involving six shots of espresso, but Hunk was already there and pulling a round of shots, which left him to stand, useless, in front of the bakery case.

“Where is he?” Hunk asked. “He didn’t have to go to the hospital for this one, did he?”

“No, he’s getting an infusion done at the clinic,” Keith said, leaning on his elbows, which were resting on the counter. “I wanted to stay with him, but he insisted that I go back to the apartment and unwind.”

“Well, I hate to break it to you, but this isn’t your apartment,” Pidge remarked. 

“I know,” Keith said. “I want coffee before I go back to the apartment. I...haven’t exactly been sleeping well. Neither has Shiro.”

“How’s he doing?” Hunk asked. 

“He’s heading towards remission, it looks like. Definitely better than he was a few days ago. But he’s still pretty wiped out.”

“I hope he gets better soon,” Lance offered. He felt very much so out of the loop, listening to all this talk of remissions and infusions, but he got the basic gist - Shiro was sick, and this wasn’t the first time. Regardless, it felt rude to not offer his sympathies. 

Keith’s smile was small and tired, but genuine. “Thanks.”

“Here.” Pidge plonked the very large cup of coffee on the counter. “It’s on us.”

Keith, who had been in the middle of taking out his wallet, stopped, brow wrinkling. He shook his head. “Guys...I-I can’t…”

“Yes, you can,” Hunk said with a gentle smile.

“And you will,” Pidge ordered. “Now, put the wallet away and drink your coffee.”

“O-Okay…” Keith returned his wallet to his pocket, looking so relieved, so grateful, that Lance thought he might actually cry. His pretty violet eyes did, in fact, look a bit misty. 

“Don’t even sweat it,” Hunk told him. “We’ve got your back.”

“Now, go sit down before you keel over,” Pidge said. “No offense, but I’ve seen healthier-looking corpses.”

Keith nodded, shuffling to an overstuffed sofa at the far end of the cafe, settling into the plush cushions, head falling back and eyes closing. Lance turned to Pidge and Hunk, brow furrowed.

“Hey, so...not to be nosy, but, um...is everything okay with him and Shiro?”

Pidge and Hunk exchanged glances, and Lance tried to read what was going on between them. Finally, Pidge turned to Lance, face twisted up into an odd expression.

“Things are...complicated,” she said. “Shiro...well, this is probably more for Keith or Shiro to talk about than us, but, you know, we’ve known them for a while, so…” 

“Shiro’s chronically ill,” Hunk said gently. “And he has periods of relapse, where he gets really sick and Keith spirals into panic.”

“And when Shiro’s sick, Keith’s ability to take care of himself plummets,” Pidge added. “You probably noticed.”

Lance glanced over at Keith, watching as he sipped from his cup, then tilted his head back into the couch again, eyes fluttering shut. Even looking as he did, worn-out, unwashed, unshaved, and exhausted, Lance couldn’t help but think he was still unfairly attractive.

Guilt settled in Lance’s gut like a lead balloon. Not only was Keith already in a relationship, but his boyfriend was seriously ill, and he was worried sick. Keith was so far beyond off-limits he might as well have been locked away in Fort Knox. And yet, Lance’s heart still hadn’t quite resumed its normal rhythm from when Keith walked in to the cafe. 

“Shiro will...be okay, right?” he asked, his voice sounding distant to his ears.

Pidge sighed, watching as Keith turned into the couch, seemingly dozing off, his coffee forgotten on the end table. 

“For his sake, I hope so.”

* * *

That night, Lance dreamed about Keith.

He was standing inside a mechanic’s garage, empty except for him, his car, and Keith, leaning against the side of the car with a sly smirk.

“Lance,” he said. “Looks like it’s just the two of us.”

“Uh...yeah…” Lance looked around; surely, this had to be the start of a very cheesy porno. “Yeah, looks like it.”

“Good.” Keith reached over, closing the hood of Lance’s car with a slow, deliberate movement, beckoning with his other hand. “Come here, Lance.”

“I’m, uh...I’m pretty sure I’m not allowed to be back here…” Lance said, even though his feet moved of their own accord, taking a few hesitant steps forward. “Aren’t these parts of the shop usually...I dunno, off limits?”

Keith’s answering smile was enough to almost charm Lance right out of his boxers. “No one here but us. Come to me, Lance.”

He kept shuffling forward; Keith stepped forward to meet him, long-fingered hands planting on Lance’s narrow hips, guiding him to the front of his car and then encouraging him further back. He knew his dad would have had a fit about him sitting on the hood of the car, dream or not, but his body was on autopilot, acting without thought. So he sat on the hood of the car, and Keith stood before him, gently opening his knees enough to bracket his slender hips, his jumpsuit pushed down around his waist and his tank top rucking up slightly to show off the delicious vee of pelvic muscle. He was so close that Lance could smell the sweat and grease and aftershave on him.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” Keith murmured, eyes heavy-lidded, nose only an inch away from Lance’s throat. 

“Y-You have?”

“All the time. And it’s been driving me crazy.”

“I...I’ve been thinking about y-you a lot, too,” Lance stammered out. “I, uh...I…”

Keith silenced his stammering with a kiss; his lips were surprisingly soft and warm, moving against Lance’s, parting for Keith to swipe a tongue across the seam of Lance’s lips. He leaned in, crotch pressing into Lance’s where his knees had been parted, and _whoa_ , that was not a wrench in Keith’s pocket. Lance yelped against Keith’s lips, and Keith sucked Lance’s bottom lip in, catching it between his teeth, giving the gentlest of tugs.

“You like that?” Keith asked.

“Keith, we...w-we really shouldn’t, w-we can’t,” Lance protested, putting his hands on Keith’s shoulders, gently pushing him back.

“Why not?” Keith asked, brushing Lance’s hands aside.

“You have a boyfriend! What about Shiro, Keith?”

A pair of strong hands came down on Lance’s shoulders, just as a warm body pressed itself to Lance’s back. He went still, cock instantly hard at the feel of a warm chest against his back and hot breath on the nape of his neck.

“I don’t mind at all,” Shiro purred into Lance’s ear.

Keith’s smile was downright wicked. “We want you, Lance.”

“Y-You do?”

“Absolutely,” Keith said, pressing himself back up against Lance, nuzzling his nose along Lance’s jawline.

“Let us show you how much we want you,” Shiro said, sliding his hands down from Lance’s shoulders to his chest, smoothing over his pectorals, rucking up his tee shirt at his waist and toying with his belt buckle. “Keith, show him how much we want him.”

“It would be my pleasure.” 

Shiro unbuckled the belt, and Keith slid it open, before unzipping Lance’s jeans. His boxers were seriously tenting, the fabric damp from precum where the tip of his cock was pressing. Keith tugged his boxers down around his thighs, then with a wink, dipped his head. Before Lance could fully process what was happening, a hot, wet heat wrapped itself around his cock as Keith swallowed him down to the base, nosing the nest of dark curls there. Lance’s hips stuttered, shoving his cock deeper into the wet heat of Keith’s mouth, chasing the satisfaction to be found there.

“Look at him,” Shiro murmured, sliding his hands over Lance’s hip bones, his metal prosthetic cool against Lance’s heated skin. “Look at how good he looks, sucking your cock. He’s so eager for it, isn’t he? So beautiful.”

“ _ Dios… _ ” Lance gasped.

“And you,” Shiro continued, pressing hot kisses to Lance’s neck, to the spot behind his ears, even as his human hand reached down to cup one of Lance’s balls. “So needy for Keith’s mouth on your cock, so wrecked. So gorgeous like this.”

“S-Shiro!” Lance gasped.

“That’s right,” Shiro said. “Keep talking to us. Keith’s doing such a good job getting you off. Let him know he’s doing a good job.”

At Shiro’s words, Keith somehow seemed to take him impossibly deeper, planting a hand on Lance’s inner thigh, and Shiro’s other hand came down to continue to cup and fondle Lance’s balls. He was going to explode from the sensation, from the heat and friction of Keith’s mouth and tongue, from the gentle pressure Shiro’s fingers were applying as they squeezed…

Lance sat bolt upright, Keith’s name on his tongue, but instead of being perched on the hood of his car and being thoroughly debauched by Keith and Shiro, he was splayed across the bed, sheets a tangle at his ankles and his pillow damp with sweat. There was a hot, wet heat still surrounding his cock, but when he reached down, he realized it wasn’t because Keith was somehow, impossibly sucking him off, but rather because he’d come in his pants like a preteen boy experiencing his first wet dream.

“God damn it,” he swore softly, carefully sliding out of bed and squeezing his legs together; the last thing he needed was a sticky mess on the floor to explain to his mother. He yanked his phone off the charger, waddling towards the bathroom with his thighs squeezed together, checking the time on his phone. The light of his screen was glaringly bright in the dark room, and the damning white numbers on his phone told him that he only had a half-hour left before he had to be awake - not enough time for any meaningful sleep, even if he cleaned up in record time.

He just hoped that no one else was in the bathroom.

* * *

“No no no noooo…”

The engine sputtered even louder, drowning out Lance’s pleas, and to his horror, the check engine light started flashing. It had come on when he’d started his car, but this was far from the first time it had done so, and it usually went off on its own. But for as little as Lance knew about cars, he knew that a flashing check engine light was a sign of some serious shit. He pulled into the nearest parking lot, nearly going up on two wheels as a result of so sharp a turn. Once he’d parked, he sagged against the steering wheel, groaning. He hadn’t gotten nearly enough sleep, had woken up having to deal with the sticky mess in his boxers and the lingering results of his dream, and was running late for work as it was - and now, big-time car trouble. Surely, the universe itself was conspiring against him.

Someone tapped on his window, nearly scaring him out of his skin. He looked up, finding that he was blocking at least three or four other cars - expensive-looking cars - into parking spaces; bracing himself for a major chewing-out by some rich asshole in a three-piece suit, Lance slowly rolled down his window.

“Hey, I’m not trying to be a...wait, don’t I know you?”

“Keith?” Lance jammed the button to roll down his window, finding himself face-to-face with a bemused Keith. He still looked exhausted, still had huge, dark circles under his eyes, but since Lance had seen him yesterday, he looked like he’d at least showered, shaved, and gotten a decent meal in him. 

“Yeah, I do know you! You’re the new barista at the coffee shop!” Keith snapped his fingers. “Um...Leo, right? Leon? I’m really bad at names.”

“Lance.”

“Right. Lance. I’m really sorry.” Keith glanced up, then back down at Lance’s car. “Do you live here?”

“I don’t.” Lance had to look away, because if he stared at Keith too long, he was going to start thinking about the dream he had last night, and the last thing he needed was to think about Keith’s mouth on his dick with Keith standing _right fucking there_. “I was on my way to work and my car just...yeah.”

As if to punctuate his statement, his car sputtered. Keith winced.

“That’s not a good sound.”

“The check engine light’s on, too.”

“Pop the hood. Let me take a look.”

Lance reached down and popped the hood, then put the car in park and stepped out, watching as Keith unlatched the hood, opened it, and then bent over, leaning in to examine the engine block. The rush of blood that left Lance’s head and made its way south was nearly enough to make him black out. It was just so unfair that Keith was so pretty, but damn, those jeans did nice things for his ass, even as filthy as they were. 

“Alright,” Keith muttered, leaning in close to listen to the engine block. “Alright, what’s got you making those noises?”

The car sputtered and shook, and Keith leaned back. The look on his face was somewhere between surprised and concerned, and it was not an expression that made Lance feel any better.

“Something sounds bad in there,” he said. “Is the light flashing or steady?”

“Flashing…”

“Then it’s a good thing you pulled over before you killed your engine.” Keith sighed, closing the hood. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you’re gonna need to get the car towed to a shop. It’s in no condition to drive.”

Lance’s stomach sank to somewhere in the region of his toes. “No, no...no, shit, I gotta get to work. Shit, I can’t be late, and...I can’t wait around for a tow truck and...and...shit…”

This was it. He was going to cry. The universe was, indeed, conspiring against him, and now that he was tired, slightly horny, late to work, and had a car that would need God-only-knew how much work on it, he was going to break down and cry in front of the hot mechanic he kind of had a crush on. And it was going to be an ugly cry.

“Whoa, hey, calm down,” Keith said. “I can ring Antok and have him take the car over to Marmora. You’ll be the first customer of the day. Kolivan’ll be thrilled.”

“Marmora Automotive?”

“Yeah. I work there. Kolivan, the owner, is my uncle.”

“How long is Antok going to take to get here?”

“If he’s in and the truck’s ready to go, like...five minutes?” Keith looked up from dialing his phone. “When do you have to be to work?”

Lance checked his phone, and his heart joined his stomach in his toes. “In three minutes.”

“Well shit.” Keith looked around, then stuffed his phone into his pocket. “Come on, I’ll give you a ride.”

“What about my car?” 

“Altea’s just around the corner. It should be fine where it is. I’ll have Antok come get it after I drop you off.”

“I’m like, blocking three people in, aren’t they going to be mad?”

“They can get bent,” Keith said with a shrug. “Come on, we’ve got to get you to the coffeeshop.”

Out of arguments, Lance had no choice but to follow Keith across the lot to a cherry-red car parked up front - in, Lance noticed, the handicapped space. A blue-and-white placard hung from the rearview mirror; Keith snatched it off and tossed it into the backseat.

“Don’t really need that. I only use it when Shiro’s with me,” he explained, starting the engine as Lance settled into the passenger’s seat, which was far back enough that it was clearly meant for someone quite a bit taller than him. “You can’t really beat the parking that thing gives you, though - I mean, when some assholes haven’t illegally parked in the spots.”

“Yeah, I guess not,” Lance said. “How’s, um...how’s Shiro doing?”

“Better,” Keith said with a small, relieved smile. “Well enough to go back into work, at least for half the day.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah.” Keith rolled up in front of Altea. “Here you are, and with one minute to spare.”

“You’re a lifesaver.” Lance popped open the door. “So, like, I don’t have any cash on me, or I’d throw some your way for gas, but any tips I get today are yours.”

“Don’t even sweat it,” Keith said. “It was just around the corner.”

“You...you sure?”

“Yeah.”

Lance nodded gratefully, then turned towards the door. He hadn’t even gotten his door closed when Keith called to him.

“Lance?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I get your number?”

All the breath left him in a woosh, like he’d taken a punch to the gut. He barely managed a squeaked-out “huh?”

Keith smiled, holding out his phone to Lance. “I need your number, so I can call you about your car.”

“Oh...right.” Sheepishly, Lance took Keith’s phone and plugged his number in before handing it back. His fingers brushed Keith’s - warm, calloused, and just a bit greasy from the engine of his car - and it took every bit of self-control Lance possessed to keep his sanity from going all to pieces.

“I think your boss is waiting for you,” Keith told him with a nod of his head towards the front of the coffeehouse.

Lance turned around and found Allura standing at the front window, arms folded across her chest. When her eyes met Lance’s, she raised an eyebrow, imperious and questioning. Lance swallowed hard.

“I guess I should go face the music.”

“I’ll give you a call about your car once we’ve had a chance to poke around under the hood,” Keith chuckled, shifting the gears of his car. “Good luck.”

As he shuffled towards the front door, Lance listened to the sound of Keith revving the engine and pulling off, wishing he could shake the feeling he was left with - the feeling that he’d just left his heart in the front seat of that bright red Corvette. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on [Tumblr](http://mllecomtessedelafere.tumblr.com) and [Twitter.](http://twitter.com/celticaurora%22) Warning: Contains spoilers and salt.
> 
> Also, if you enjoy this story, consider purchasing **_Orion: A Shklance Zine_** , a fan zine dedicated to the Shiro/Keith/Lance pairing. Orion features a mix of (safe-for-work) stories and artwork, including a short fic by yours truly! Preorders open January 10th! All proceeds will be donated to The Planetary Society!


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